


Finding Her Way

by VulpusTumultum



Series: Scarlet Kadan [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, POV Lavellan, Slow Build, Timeskips, Train of Thought, flirtation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpusTumultum/pseuds/VulpusTumultum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aislyr "Scarlet" Lavellan tries to come to terms with what her life has become as Herald of Andraste, and takes up trying to come to terms (in a more euphemistic way perhaps) with Bull as something of a side hobby. Finding out Bull has a bit of a fetish for red hair might be of help.</p><p>(Multiple Chapters of story progression/char development in general too)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Melee is for Suckers

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters for this work may have timeline convergence with other Scarlet Kadan works, but these chapters are going to be mostly, if not all, from Aislyr's PoV, and non-explicit. 
> 
> I'm honestly still sorting out how best to organize my drabbles coherently here, because I am a very disorganized writer by nature, so apologies and please bear with me =)
> 
> (Just.. a side note, this series is undergoing mild edits in earlier chapters, bc I changed my mind about some directions to go in, which if you're rereading, you might notice.)

The Iron Bull was watching her again, or rather, at her hair, with what looked like disapproval, from what she'd learned to read of his expressions. She'd already decided the man wasn't so much a closed book as something like the books she'd found that one time in a Shemlen shop, that had covers saying they were one thing, but with the actual stories in the middle being very different. It had been an amusing experience, as well as possibly a valuable insight into how some Shem thought of sex with each other.

She stretched, rolling the knots out of her back from the rocky night's sleep- literally rocky, no matter how many stones you had kicked away in the Storm Coast, there were still always some lined up under wherever you put the tent and bedroll- and flicked her braid back over her shoulder once she straightened.

The Ben-Hassrath tilted his head, and rumbled, “Hasn't anyone ever grabbed that in a fight?” and she laughed- Blackwall had groused about the same thing once. Professional soldiers clearly found it a puzzling risk to take, but she _liked_ her hair, braiding it was a relaxing way to spend an evening. She'd asked Blackwall if anyone ever tried grabbing his beard, but to answer today...

“Maybe once or twice, but melee is for suckers, especially big, muscular suckers who want to bodyguard an elf stuck in a human religious movement.”

He chuckled at that, while Cassandra made a disgusted (or also amused) noise from where she was finishing her hot tea. He had a pleasant laugh, and she was relieved he took the answer well. She'd only hired the Chargers a few days ago, and still was figuring out the spy who took so much pleasure out of being in the front lines. She had admittedly tended to think of spies for any race or group being more like her. Only better at keeping opinions to themselves and avoiding fights.

But she'd been more used to dealing with humans and dwarves, known to be more tolerant of them out of all the clan's best scouts, and so she'd been sent to that Conclave. And now here she was, a sole survivor of mysterious events, a Herald of Andraste, who she didn't give a damn about, and unable to return home anytime soon. And who was lucky she hadn't re-offended the Seeker with her comment.

 _More comfortable_ with non-elves than most of the clan still didn't mean she was completely so. It was a constant itch between her shoulder blades. Especially around heavily armored humans who had once threatened to kill her over whatever had happened- even if... things were smoothing out between them. The Seeker had even apologized.

Odd how much she missed the clan now, when she'd always wandered so far from it before- but then, she could always have just gone back before, at any time, to take up more typical scout duties and get away from everyone and everything else. Now she'd been saddled with a duty that didn't fit right, or sit right, and yet she knew she had to just... try and do it, or risk finding herself standing there with a world shattering apart and feeling like a useless coward for not having worked to fix it.

 _Right._ She was getting too gloomy, they were on the move, to challenge some bandit leader who'd killed Inquisition people. _Her_ people, and as strange as it still felt to think of anyone not Dalish that way, it just was how it was now. A good fight to clear her head, and hopefully they could get out of this sodden landscape. The constant squelchy feeling of wet armor was likely to blame for her mood running sour every few minutes...

Though when she let others take the lead- she had to appreciate the way the Qunari's mostly-bare torso glistened when wet. If he liked to be seen as a killing machine, here on the coast he was certainly a well oiled one.

As distracting as homesickness, but in a way that could make things at least seem a _little_ less uncomfortable for a while. The fight would hopefully warm her up more. She was looking forward to the fight.

********

The dogs were the annoying bit. Always harder to keep animals off at a distance than any equal number of humans. But at least the other “Blades of Hessarian” were staying out of it as declared. Their leader was almost as big as Bull, and his mabari were well trained to fight- she leapt back from snapping jaws and they yelped as their paws hit caltrops. Bull charged from where he'd helped Cass back the leader into that corner, and ended one of the beasts with a single blow- she moved past him, almost just skidding over the wet dirt floor of the compound, so that he was between her and the second hound- firing not at the dog but at the bandit chieftain, since she had a better angle for that.  

A shield shimmered over her again- Solas' work, and she stopped moving to concentrate on her mark- wanting to get the man down- Cassandra still forcing him to focus on her, and the Seeker had not merely been defensive. The bearded Shem roared insults and bled. Scarlet felt something hit the shielding energy behind her, but finished her careful shot before turning to the close threat- a poisoned arrow sinking into the enemy's throat all the way to the feathers.

She smacked the mabari with her bow, and instead of firing the arrow she'd drawn, stabbed and slashed at it instead, and then it yelped as a hooked chain dug into it, and Bull yanked it into range for a hard kick. Arrow to bow and then into the beast- and there was no more sound of combat, just falling rain.

The Qunari looked at her, “I think stabbing and hitting instead of shooting makes it melee,” he said mildly.

“All right, sometimes I'm a sucker. Still like my hair as it is.”

“It is lovely,” was a sudden, unexpected addition from Cassandra, as she wiped bits of bandit off her blade and shield. “I wonder if that is the problem for some men rather than anything else about it.”

Bull laughed, “Hey, I'm _fine_ with pretty being part of deadly. Makes it all sexier.”

Scarlet chuckled, and then, the last of the fighting adrenaline fading, set her thoughts back to her job, and turned to deal with the watching Hessarians and the man who was now technically her second in command among them, if what they'd claimed was true.


	2. Burdens and Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aislyr still doesn't think of herself as a leader, even though it never even occurs to her to just try and run. The burdens are heavy, her own prejudices may be getting in the way of her job, and so far time has her feeling more out of place rather than more at ease, and lonelier now than she ever was as "simple" Dalish scout.
> 
> Bull's mix of straightforwardness and strangeness makes him an attractive distraction from her doubts and fears- plus, of course, he *glistens* when wet. She just has to figure out her first moves.

How long had it been since all this began? She'd kept so busy the time blurred into just trekking from the Storm Coast back to Haven, then to the bloody Hinterlands again to seal the deal for the horses- and now off again to find some missing soldiers, because they needed all the men and women they could get- and of course, morale. She'd never had to worry about morale before. She'd never had to really, _really_ worry about people who were 'under' her before. She didn't like it, the nagging thoughts, worrying if the soldiers would be alive still when they got to where the Avaar held them.

She _really_ didn't like that someone kidnapped people in order to get at _her_. It made her stomach tighten- and when they got back to Haven, she was going to demand Leliana have people not just contact Clan Lavellan again, but this time stick around to keep an eye on them. If some shitheaded barbarian wanting to claim favors of the gods used her scouts as a prize to get her to fight him, what might whoever or whatever responsible for the rip in the sky do to her clan to get at the Inquisition's figurehead?

She had to get those scouts free, but already knew that in time, there were going to be people dying, thinking she was some sort of holy woman, and she wouldn't be able to go after and save everyone.

_Bugger. Maybe I should go try and make nice with the High Seeker- maybe I'll feel less guilty when Templars are at stake._

And that was the other big weight on her shoulders- before she'd actually even really cared about these sodding scouts, she had agreed to find them as a way to run away one last time. Aislyr was running from being the tie-breaker on the council about whether it was best to first meet the mages as invited by their leader (who had seemed polite and sane), or chase down the Templars whose leader had told them to go fuck themselves (and had radiated mad fanaticism). _How is that really even a hard choice, other than I mean the fact that I'm liable to either have my spymaster or my general really offended at me? Who do I feel safer making upset: Leliana and Josephine, or Cullen and Cassandra? Why am I in this sodding position, if it really is because of some Maker I want words with him and his damn wife._

So now she, Cassandra, Bull, and Solas were up to their ankles in muck, sopping wet from rain, and she was _missing_ the Storm Coast. At least there had been breezes there. Actual wind. And less reeking undead shambling out of swamp water at random intervals.

“Fallow Mire- why did they call it _Fallow_ that's not nearly horrible enough to be paired up with 'mire'. Fallow means something good might be there later, doesn't it?”

Solas was the only one who hadn't grumbled, and she suspected it was mostly because he was getting such entertainment out of everyone else's suffering. Not even he could actually _like_ being here.

 _Think happy thoughts_ . _Though of course don't think about them so hard you don't see the zombies with bows out in the bog._

She'd found out at Haven that Bull liked redheads. That...explained some things, and raised some interesting possibilities. How the hell were Qunari so damn big? She'd seen a few before- the mercenary ones, Tal Vaashoth, that Bull quite obviously held in contempt and even hatred, but at a distance- there'd been a few guarding nobles at the Conclave before... the whatever the fuck happened.

Trying to get to know more about the Qunari as a people had been fairly idle curiosity at first, she'd certainly talked to just about everyone else she'd cared to speak with around Haven, and while a large part of what he described was unsettling, if not outright disturbing (although the no-strings sex thing had sounded appealing, considering she'd been about to hit her monthly and was silently going crazy when that subject even came up), Bull himself started to seem _safe_. Maybe because of the tale of the no-strings sex thing, in part.

She still felt twitchy at the idea of any of her current human comrades getting _that_ close to her, even if the council at least now were on real-first-name basis with her. The only elves around were well- shy, timid servants, freaking out any time they saw the Herald of Andraste, and impossible to become friends with, much less friends with benefits. Or of course Solas- who.. _no_ . He was interesting, in an intellectual asshole way, but _weird_ , and often acted like some kind of Elder, so the only urges he gave her were to either smack him upside the head because he'd been a smug arse, or back down and mumble like he'd caught her not paying proper attention to some lesson.

Bull liked redheads, and this particular redhead was wanting to find out how much she might like Bull. And it was getting frustrating. Even she knew it might be a bad idea to mix business with pleasure- maybe he felt more strongly about it- though he certainly enjoyed flirting with Cassandra, and technically the Seeker outranked her, she was pretty sure. Actual founder of the Inquisition versus figurehead elf who didn't even really want to _be_ there.

She hated having so much bloody responsibility, so many lives feeling like they were in her hands. Hated every minute of it, especially when it was so tied into the whole Maker/Andraste thing. Ser Cullen and the Seeker were...decent, but the Templars they kept pushing her to go find made her skin crawl.The High Seeker had been everything she hated about Templars and then some. He'd been so open in his unbending arrogance and cruelty, not even bothering to pretend that he cared about anything but his 'destiny'. Even she wouldn't have punched an unarmed, ranting, and bitter old woman to shut her up- or given an underling tacit permission to do so.Which was something Chancellor Roderick also should count his blessings for, since if she'd have punched a Revered Mother she'd certainly have already given him a broken nose.

And to make it extra creepy, humans were so bloody set in their hierarchies that even those Templars who'd been clearly disturbed by what he said and the acts of their fellows in Val Royeaux just... followed the Lord High Seeker away, even if they were frowning about it. It was their bloody duty, the one had said. Duty to what, at this point? Followed until _what_ exactly? What would make them desert him, how bad would things have to get- and did she want to have a bunch of heavily armed and armored warriors whose training had revolved around being suspicious, clannish bastards, who had for their entire careers or even lives only _one_ purpose given to them- to deal with mages- were they what she was supposed to trust in?

It was enough to give her a constant headache now. Sure, maybe _if_ they got talked away from Lucius, they'd follow the Inquisition with that sort of unthinking ( _creeeeepy_ ) loyalty to rank and orders, but how was she even supposed to get them to listen to reason in the first place, if Cullen or Cassandra couldn't do it? They had reasons to respect a Seeker and a former Templar but she'd either be a savage Dalish, a uppity knife ear, or a figure of religious veneration as _best_ scenario- and it was written down in big bloody books what humans generally wound up doing to their religious figures. What they did to 'monsters' or mages you didn't even have to learn to read to see-

She had a suspicion that trying to force a meeting with Lucius and those who hadn't already deserted him would result in a bloodbath, with the Inqusition getting survivors rather than an army. Or result in her getting split in two by a Templar sword.

Though maybe she was being unfair, because of- _no, Templars_ _**are** _ _sodding arseholes who can't be trusted if you're not human, because elves aren't in the bloody Chant, are we? And we have apostate mages in our clans if we're Dalish. Cullen and Cassandra may murder me and get the whole inevitable betrayal and martyrdom thing out of the way, but for gods' sake, going to see what the mages want to offer doesn't mean I'll accept if they're frothing at the mouth like the ones we cleared out of the cave._

She needed a break and more time to herself. Needed distractions. Entertainment. And fantasies about Bull were starting to edge into a night, as basic entertainment for what time alone she got in a tent- making her feel irritatingly awkward the next day, because the bastard almost never said anything fun about or to her. She even missed the ocassional gripe about her hair, and wished it grew faster so she could _really_ get on his nerves with it. Maybe if the braid reached down to her thighs... but that'd take over a year, and be awkward in a fight even for her, unless she kept it gathered up and wrapped around her head maybe- like Cass did with her much shorter hair.

They'd stopped to get their bearings, and she wrung water out of her braid, then, on a whim, did start wrapping it into a coil rather than letting it hang loose, though instead of turning it into a crown, she looped it around her neck, making a thick coppery collar out of it, pinning with a bit of snapped twig so it would stay wrapped.

“Oh now- Boss, that is just _unfair,”_ rumbled Bull's voice from where he habitually loomed behind her, and she grinned.

“Says the man who wanders around half naked so that he positively glistens in wet weather?”

“Hey, shirts just aren't a Qunari thing, I'm not glistening on purpose.”

“Starting to wish they weren't an elven or human thing- you would not _believe_ how squelchy everything is under the leather in weather like this- the combination of constant wetness and rubbing is-”

“See now, _you're_ doing that on purpose.”

Up ahead, they could finally see the looming old ruins where supposedly, hopefully, they'd rescue the scouts, still alive. Her smile widened- one more push, a few more fights, and they'd be done with this place.

“Oh look, time for you and Cassandra to get in front again.”

“Sure Boss, one glistening front line, coming up.”

“ _I_ do not glisten.”

“Of course not, Seeker, your armor _dazzles_ instead, shining and dramatic, like a ray of justice-”

“Did you perhaps take a blow to your head during the last fight, Herald?”

“Of course not, Seeker, melee is still for suckers. I'm just celebrating that we are about to be able to get the hell out of this swamp.”

Cassandra snorted, “The celebrations should be after we have won, surely.”

“Pff, huge looming ruins, looks like dozens of corpses milling around on the road in front of it, and inside are a bunch of barbarian warriors wanting a religious experience. We'll win. If nothing else, I refuse to be killed here, if I'm going to shamble around as a zombie it'll be somewhere nice, like a forest with sun flickering down through the leaves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much glistening. Isabela would approve.


	3. Understandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aislyr Lavellan is a sodding poor choice for an Ambassador, likely, but she tries to make Cassandra understand things from her perspective, at least a little. No lies, though possibly.. evasions still, somewhere.

Not the most comfortable of talks, as they camped at the edge of the mire, meeting up with those who hadn't necessarily gone all the way to the old castle. Which was a shame because things had gone so well against the Avaar. But Cassandra had brought up the pressing issue of needing aid for the breech. And mentioned opening negotiations with Lord Seeker Lucius- or at least, other officers if the man was truly a lost cause. Again.

The Herald's reaction, though at first wordless, wasn't lost on the warrior.

“You get that look, when Templars are brought up,” she noted brusquely, and Aislyr felt her spine tighten defensively at the Seeker's observation. “Do you have personal experience making it so? I did not think you had much experience with the order before the Conclave.”

“What, and I couldn't have had some memorable experiences at the Conclave before or after the explosion and what I'm missing? Or the Hinterlands? Just because we wander, doesn't mean a Dalish clan doesn't get to meet Templars either, especially if we're stubborn or foolish enough to make camps near human villages and towns. Even where 'near' is a full day's travel.”

Cassandra's lips tightened at the suggestion of memorable experiences at the Conclave- whether irritation or guilt, Scarlet wouldn't have been able to say, but it did make her feel like she was back to being “Scarlet” again. Not trusting, and generally angry.

“The Templars in the Hinterlands-”

“Were probably angry fanatics even before the incident at Conclave,” she said it flatly, there wasn't a point to trying to duck any of this, was there? “Being leashed by the Chantry before may or may not have kept them from abusing others or enjoying killing openly, but that doesn't mean it wasn't in them before.”

“You think Templars _need_ leashes _?”_

“No, but sometimes need a swift kick to the head or arrow to the throat. Leashes make people choke, and choking makes _anything_ lash out dangerously,” Scarlet watched the Seeker's expression as the woman sorted through her words. “Isn't 'leash' a common term used about how the Chantry keeps them, and they kept mages? Pretty sure I learned the phrase while being around humans and didn't make it up myself.”

She regretted adding that, slightly, almost immediately. Another difference between her and the Seeker- Cassandra sometimes didn't feel a need to stick more knives in. But still, it was galling to forever have humans thinking somehow the Dalish only had mages in their clans because the elves somehow didn't _understand_ magic was dangerous and tricky and that Templars were _needed_ by everyone.

“You had unpleasant experiences before the Conclave,” the woman made it brusque statement of fact rather than a question, but still made it clear she expected answers.

“Yes, did people think it was idle curiosity or a thirst for conversion that made some Dalish want to observe that shit?”

“What happened, before?”

“Does it matter so much you need to interrogate me anew, Seeker?” no one was interrupting or interfering, but she knew there was an audience- even if they were politely pretending to not be paying much attention- and _someone_ would undoubtedly interfere if things devolved all the way to death threats. Thank the creators though that Vivienne had flatly refused to come to the swamp if not absolutely needed.

Cassandra's eyes hardened, but then she took a breath, “No. It is not an interrogation. But I wish to know what was done. If you are willing to speak of it. Otherwise, I shall let it drop.”

That took some of the bitter fire out of Aislyr, and she considered the options. If the woman had insisted or added 'for now' to the end of that- well, of course she'd have fought that. She glanced at the fire.

“It's not just an 'it'. I've had... several encounters with Templars. A couple of generations ago some of my immediate ancestors decided that limited trade was a good thing, and there's a cycle that develops to it, you know? Do well and travel peacefully for a year or so, and then you get too close to a town having problems- crops failed or whatever- and suddenly the clan's accused of blood magic as soon as our presence is known. If there's Templars nearby, they come to investigate. Sometimes even if the town didn't fuss, some Templar or someone above them in the Chantry would get suspicious of what we're up to,” she shrugged, “It can resolve peacefully, or maybe with threats but no violence, but other times, it's arrows, blades, get rid of the bodies and avoid the place afterwards. Or at least don't let the humans know you're around for a decade or so. Lavellan is full of bloody idiots, that we've even kept bothering and haven't just permanently cut off all contact out in the deep wilderness somewhere.”

“You... have killed Templars often?”

“Often? No, not before the Hinterlands with you. But by the Creators it was them or me, or some clanmates. Fuck's sake, Seeker, you're the first Templar or Templar-ish person to ever snarl that they wanted to kill me but then let me say more than two sentences in defense before actually trying your best to do so. You ordered me to put the bow back down, but didn't just stab me for having picked it up. It's part of why I actually _like_ you.”

“And I've also killed blood-mage apostates, bandits, slavers- and far more of those than Templars," she continued, "but it's Templars that leave an _impression_ rather than just being 'oh look, an unstable mage or bunch of sodding arseholes again, best finish them up so I can have lunch!'” That earned what might have been an actually amused snort from her still-apparently-an-ally.

“So yes. I get a _look_ when thinking about them, and would prefer to take the nice invitation from the devious mages than go walking into an entire fortress of Templars who have already told me I won't be welcome. But I don't think I'm just being... swayed by my emotions, or heretical Dalish views, even if I bloody well have them, Cassandra,” Aislyr found she really wished the woman- and yes, Cullen back at Haven would understand this, “Time isn't on our side, as keeps getting pointed out, and a polite meeting with people who want to make any kind of deal goes faster than a dick waving contest against a man who sneers about how he's destined for greatness and that the Inquisition isn't even worth _bothering_ with.”

“Our Herald has a point there, Seeker.”

“ _Yes_ Varric. I can... see it. And I apologize, Herald. I did never intend for it to sound as if I believed you did not think things through.”

Aislyr felt some kind of relief wash through her, the mood wasn't so dark around the campfire. She'd survived her unflattering opinions, and even made it clear- even though this wasn't the war table- what she meant to do, and no one had questioned whether she'd lost her mind.

“Well we spend a lot of time walking, sometimes even without enemies to shoot, and I can't just think about the ass of whoever is in front of me the _entire_ time.”

“...Even though you always then feel the need to say something like that.”

“There's a reason I was supposed to stay mostly out of sight and just observe things silently. Take it up with Andraste or whoever for suddenly making me need to _interact_ with people.”

Varric laughed, “So did you get assigned to the job or did you volunteer?”

“Bit of both, mostly assigned. I've had the biggest morbid curiosity about life outside the clan, and like the stuff humans brew, so had the most experience with being indoors,” saying it didn't even require thought, it was a much more fun reason than any real one.

“Wait- you were chosen to observe an earth-shatteringly important diplomatic event because you frequented taverns?” the dwarf sounded delighted as much as any shock.

“Frequented them _without_ always getting into brawls even _._ Being inside walls and a roof when you're not exploring some ancient tomb is weird, even without adding in being surrounded by strangers who might call you knife-ear and start trouble. Floors or cobbles feel far more gross than mud or dirt. _Most_ mud, that is, the stuff here has been foul. Maybe because of the zombies in it.”

“You could wear shoes.”

“That's terrifying.”

“ _Elves._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am straying a little from strict canon likely by having Clan Lavellan being a little more open to dealing with humans than usual, but for this particular Inquisitor/Herald Lavellan, I see her being sent because Keeper Istimaethoriel and the clan as a whole being a bit less isolationist than many to begin with-
> 
> Although Aislyr still isn't at all typical of the clan as a whole either.


	4. Holes in the Sky and Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude at Haven with Solas, and a nightmare in a mountain pass.

The elven mage was looking at her in bemusement, as they sat in the sun near the apothecary shop and watched the scurrying to prepare for the Breach being sealed. She, fortunately, was getting a breather, not being expected to help with the bloody mess that was making room for the arriving mages and seeing to it that the Templars within the Inquisition who had more instincts than good sense didn't cause incidents. Or that the still twitchy and defensive mages didn't, for that matter. _Poor Cullen_.

“All right, Elder Solas, what's with the look?”

“Must you?”

“Probably not, but sometimes it seems so appropriate- other times it's said with complete sarcasm, you understand.”

He laughed, “You do not make it hard to tell the difference, but that is precisely part of why I find you a bit of a puzzle. You leap to the defense of almost all things Dalish-”

“Thank you for the almost, there. I am sure my grandmother's bones just rattled angrily wherever they are.”

“Your interest in ruins, in the fade, it's not quite in the manner one expects from the Dalish, especially non-mages. And then there is your attitude and speech patterns-”

“ _Please_ don't tell me you don't think Dalish have as poor a sense of humor as you think we have a grip on history.”

“No- but you show it openly around strangers, and have since the beginning. Instead of silence and trying to merge into the background, you deflect questions with humor, and even when you are not at ease you often try and make it seem as if you are. That is not what I have seen as typical. Nor are puns, by the way, and I sometimes suspect you deliberately try to find the most un-elven thing to say- distancing yourself somehow, but not out dislike.”

She chuckled slightly, then sighed, and took a drink from the bottle she'd brought out- Solas declined the offer of it.

“It's true, I'm not typical of even Lavellan, and there are some back home who don't believe I'm truly Dalish anymore- maybe I'm not. A Keeper other than Istimaethoriel might have forbidden my return long ago.” _A very long time ago. But she just lets me drift back and away again, saying I still have my place, and that I know my ties to the People._

“But you still think of them-”

“As my people, yes. I've left them for so long at times, and seen things- well. I feel bloody lucky to have been raised in the clan rather than an alienage, or as one of a handful of elves alone in some insular village,” she rubbed without thinking at a scarred arm, the mage noting the gesture. “And before you start- no I don't think less of elves who aren't Dalish, just I'm well aware that I'd likely not have lived as long as I have.”

“You are still quite young.”

“I stand by my statement, oh wise Elder.”

“And you sound almost proud of it as you hint that you are foolish, feckless, and irresponsibly stubborn. Possibly with a bit of a death wish for good measure.”

“Makes for good stories to tell over drinks,” she stared at the waiting rip over the old temple of Sacred Ashes, glowing faintly green, the sky twisting around it.

“Tomorrow will make another, if all goes well,” he looked back up to it as well, “do you intend to go back to Lavellan when it is done?”

“Sealing that won't mean it's _done_. Still will be too much unanswered, too much to do before there's actual peace.”

“And that is why your claims to foolishness and irresponsibility always fall somewhat flat. And why you are wrong if you actually believe your own pose.”

“See, that shit is why I call you an Elder,” she muttered, but along with the discomfort was a kind of relief, though whether from something almost like praise, or because he for now seemed done with questions and observations, she couldn't quite say. Both, most likely.

 

********

 

_She'd never even known her name and now the girl- young woman- was laying in a pool of blood while Templars had tried to break up the crowd that had gathered- and all Aislyr could do was stare from where she'd climbed to see what was happening and feel the burn of angry tears and bile climbing up her throat._

_A cold, practiced part of her that had paid attention to training noticed the men other than Templars who had the most blood on their clothes didn't look like townsmen either- they had well-used swords and maces, wore rough leathers smudged with grime. Not even anger on their faces, just cold scowls at being handled roughly now._

_She should have never let her come back 'home'. She should have hit her over the head and dragged her to camp and let the Keeper think of something and not tried to keep it a secret._

_Aislyr didn't notice the man hovering back, livid new scars on his skin, next to another Templar, until he somehow had noticed her up on that roof edge and shouted, staggering back behind the armored man as if for shelter._

“ **_That's the other one- Dalish witch! She helped set the beasts on us!”_ **

_She'd thought that all of them had died. She bolted to get off the roof even as a few bows raised and the Templar's commander shouted orders- but not before she saw that the scarred face at the back of the mob was smiling. That same vicious smile that had made her feed him to a bear._

_She didn't want to run away. She wanted to finish the  bear's job._

_She should have reported what happened before coming back here. She had to get away and tell the Scout Elder and Keeper that she had put the clan in danger if they stayed camped as close as they were to this place now. That a mob and Templars might be coming._

_She heard horses behind her but she had a head start, and the edge of the forest was close. Once in the trees, she could get away from mounted pursuit, Templars or otherwise. She was going to be as good a scout as her grandmother._

_...Even if she'd just disobeyed orders, disobeyed more orders, disobeyed traditions, and then failed to make sure all the shemlen she'd tried to kill were really and truly dead..._

_**The pain in her back, arrow slamming into her shoulder, making her lose stride and start to fall forward-** _

To sit up suddenly in a dark tent body aching still from current and remembered injuries, breathing hard, and then yelp when the other women sharing the tent- the freezing mountains and snow keeping people bundled together, especially in larger tents like this one- also stirred or sat up. Solas had told her maybe they'd reach their mysterious destination in another day, maybe day and a half.

“Herald?”

“It's nothing. Found a rock under me the hard way.”

Cassandra could make silences talk. This one said _I don't believe you_. Leliana sighed, or maybe it was Josephine, the ambassador asking “...Or a dream about Haven?”

Aislyr almost laughed, though not because anything was funny- she hadn't been thinking of Haven at _all_ but now of course-

“No. No.. about something from.. a long time ago. But it almost could have been-”

_All the other pools of blood and half-burned bodies, how many buried in rubble out of sight- the army- entire army of Templars, like something out of a nightmare- whether they had been good or bad before, now they were the dogs of the Elder One rather than the Chantry. They'd begun their march while she'd been saving the mages- but if she hadn't saved the mages...would it have been them instead, unloosing demons and storms of fire?_

_She wasn't the clan's precocious problem child anymore, too fascinated with ruins, too careless, to sure she had everything under control- losing just one life she felt responsibility for because of mistakes- or risking even a few dozen- now hundreds could die, thousands, because she was the bloody Herald of Andraste, back from the dead or as-good-as-dead for the second time since she'd left home for- the last time, probably. The Keeper had always welcomed her back, even when everyone else was uncertain, but now, she was more dangerous to anyone than she'd ever been before. Win or lose, the Inquisition was probably now as much a home as she could have._

They were all practically touching, just due to the tent size, and the cold, but the other three edged even closer. She curled back into the warm bedroll, and really, all of them were to cold and tired to want to force any talking.

“I will be fine. Really.”

The others settled back, and at some point she thought she heard Josephine having a nightmare too, but Leliana- it had to be her- hummed something soft and soothing and even she fell back asleep, before she could decide if she could or should say anything.

It actually felt like home, childhood memories of everyone sleeping in even more of a pile to keep the cold at bay in winter- which might have been why the dreams kept finding her, and tangled the threads of Haven and the camp, so that there were _always_ familiar faces on the dead, wherever she looked. 


End file.
